


make it holy

by casualbird



Series: epilogue [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Post-Canon, Scandalous handholding, Spooning, Touch-Starved, advanced spooning tactics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 01:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18928426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: "It had gone on like the end of winter, the want in him."after everything is over, lon'qu and libra find their bed again.





	make it holy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my own damn birthday!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+own+damn+birthday%21).



Libra woke without pain on a too-soft mattress, to faraway conversations only barely perceptible. Had to remind himself once more that the war had ended. He and Lon’qu were safe, healing. Staying in Ylisstol, waiting for all the fol-de-rol to end so they could rush for the reconstruction.

He shrugged off the jolt of waking, let himself lie still at his husband’s side.

Lon’qu’s arms in the morning were hard-won, long-awaited. In the fever of war they slept pitching and fitful; afterward, the vagaries of retreat had them stumbling to bed at any disparate hours of the day. Lon’qu had slipped a step in battle grasping for Libra’s arm; he’d paid for it in blood and splintered bone. Comfort eluded him, and Libra contented himself with the edge of the bed, just skirting him, making twined fingers be enough.

It had gone on like the end of winter, the want in him. Protracted, it pined for any false-spring touches it could find. Lon’qu’s fingers in his hair, hand supporting the small of his back.

He’d been acquiescent when they’d found their bed last night, having bowed out of the dancing after dinner. But Lon’qu hummed, tested his stance without the crutch. Dressed himself for bed with no twisted face, no swearing. Laying down he shifted on the sheets, onto his side, bore weight on his good hip.

His healthy hip, Libra thought. Invariably, the both of them were good, and they were equal in their occupation of his mind.

For the first time in weeks, Libra laid against him, spine to sternum like they belonged. Lon’qu draped an arm over his waist, and for the first time in weeks, he had slept the way he needed.

So surely he’d overslept. Libra swept the room for a clock, but needed none. It came to him that the ceremonies were winding down, that he’d no plans for the day. Nothing to prevail on his attention.

Nothing but Lon’qu, soft and warm and even-breathing. Sweet when he slept, unguarded. Libra backed further into him, into the smell of clean sweat and fabric, and let his hand stroke the crook of his husband’s knee.

He wondered if it would be wrong to wake him, to whisper love in his ear, beg the clasp of Lon’qu’s arm over his chest. To pull him into consciousness only to remind him that there was nothing they needed to do with it.

Libra shook his groggy head, pressed his nose into the clean pillowcase. Let his eyes drop shut, resigned to doze when he heard soft curmudgeonly rumbling and knew Lon’qu was up. Knew every stiff joint, every crimp in his brow like the words of a well-worn song.

“Good morning,” he murmured, mouth gummy and dry. “Did you rest well?”

Lon’qu pressed his head into the crook of Libra’s shoulder. A pleasant wave rolled down his spine when he kissed him there, nose brushing the skin at the edge of his nightshirt.

“Mmn,” Lon’qu grumbled. “Libra.”

Libra laughed, a gentle half-formed thing that barely escaped his chest. “May I take that as a yes, dear?”

Another grumble.

“Well, there’s nothing we need to do for today. You could go back to sleep.”

“No,” Lon’qu murmured, nosing into Libra’s hair. He pressed another chapped-lips kiss to the angle of his jaw, and Libra sighed, shifted closer.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Please keep holding me, then.”

A sleep-eyed second passed between them, until Lon’qu found his bearings, situated his arm better in the dip of Libra’s waist. Libra purred, laced their fingers together, felt the gentle _clink_ of their wedding bands.

Lon’qu let out that little breath, the one that told Libra he was smiling. He parted his lips, let a kiss linger in the bend of Libra’s neck. Didn’t mind the mouthful of hair he got; he was well used to it by now.

Libra ducked his head deeper into the pillow, a question as well as an invitation. Lon’qu obliged, left a peck in the space behind Libra’s ear.

A tiny moan caught in Libra’s throat; his toes twitched as if to curl. Lon’qu laughed, though the second and third kisses made clear that he hadn’t a grain of mockery in him.

“I’ve missed this,” Libra said, worrying his lip between teeth. His tone leaned just an inch too far toward apology, dismissed by the squeeze of Lon’qu’s fingers.

“Yeah.”

“Are you in any pain? Please, don’t suffer on my account.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Lon’qu, and brushed his thumb over Libra’s knuckles. Smeared a fingerprint over his wedding ring, knowing Libra wouldn’t mind.

A laugh. “You do all the time. Do you remember Sumia’s wedding? When I tried the Feroxi waltz and you didn’t even tell me I was on your foot.”

“You looked happy.” A reasonable defense, simply given. Sealed with a kiss. “You’re happy now.”

Libra shrugged, kissed Lon’qu’s knuckles where their fingers joined. “I’m happy so long as your leg isn’t hurting you.”

“Then you’re happy,” Lon’qu concluded. He drifted back, kissing the bone at the nape of Libra’s neck. His mouth was open, wet, and Libra shivered at the edge of teeth, at the loss of Lon’qu’s shoulders on his own. Libra’s belly sparked with interest, which he accepted open-armed. How long had it been, since they’d had a morning to themselves? No stern scheduling rotations, no inexorable calls to arms. A room to themselves, with a bed made out of something other than straw and worn blankets, with walls thick enough for privacy.

“Alright?” Lon’qu murmured, and Libra couldn’t help himself but nod, knock his head into Lon’qu’s nose.

“Sorry, I--”

“No. Just-- is this alright?”

“Yes, it’s good.” Libra stretched, arranged himself into a position where he wouldn’t crush his arm. Lucky-- with the new angle, he could kiss Lon’qu’s jaw if he craned his neck just so.

“You need a shave,” he decided. “Perhaps later I could help you?” Which was a particular shorthand, for them, that meant that Libra’s hands would be steady on the grip of the razor, and Lon’qu’s would shake as he braided Libra’s hair, and after a certain amount of feigning legitimate purpose they would kiss until the water in the basin went cold.

Lon’qu kissed him proper then, open-mouthed. Libra took it as a yes. And then another yes, and a third yes after that.

“Please, come closer.”

So Lon’qu came closer, dragged them flush from necks to knees, and Libra was half-surprised to find him hard against his thigh.

“Oh, good morning.” And he could feel himself blush as if they hadn’t been married for three months, as if they hadn’t come together long before that.

Well. It was getting better. The shock of being wanted was fading every day.

“Ha. Sorry.”

“Love-- please, don’t be.”

An experimental nudge of hips had Lon’qu’s breath sticking in his throat, thigh jerking against Libra’s.

“Will you--” Libra faltered, hesitance a holdover from years of not knowing how to ask. “Make love to me?”

It never sounded quite right, when he said it. But Lon’qu never paid the phrasing much mind. Just kissed the spot behind Libra’s ear again, heavy and wet. Let it last a moment, felt Libra’s pulse quicken under his lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured, still brushing Libra’s skin. “Yeah, just.” And he stumbled too, thumbing through his words, ordering them together as neatly as he could. “Tell me. What you want.”

Libra let out a slow and shaking breath. If his mind was a windowpane, Lon’qu had just exhaled on it, fogged it up. Lon’qu’s cock at his backside begged his attention, but the question, he had to remember, was more pressing.

He perused the list of things they’d tried, the shorter list of things they’d managed. Skirted almost nimbly ‘round the fraught parts. Concentrated as well as he could with the strained patience of hips against his.

“Lon’qu,” he managed, and for a moment it was almost just that. Lon’qu withdrew for a second from his neck, and though Libra whimpered he could tell that it was a consideration, that he was meant to collect himself, to speak.

“Do you remember, in Valm,” he paused, the only referent for this a memory with no place in their bed. “After the Demon’s Ingle?”

Lon’qu rumbled in concurrence. It had been a terrible day, but there had been slowness after the sunset, after Libra had done all he could for the wounded. They had fallen into bed without washing up, Libra intending only to check his love for burns, but it was... It had been too much. The day. The clangor of battle, matched only by the mountain’s bone-deep roar. The screams from Say’ri’s tattered throat.

They’d collapsed into each other, worn thin and ragged. Clinging. Lon’qu’s arms made Libra feel contained, as if there was some boundary between them and the fracturing world. Wordless, they’d kissed promises into each other’s mouths until they’d panted, sore hips finding second wind.

They were both too tired to lie together, really. But they’d shuddered in their need, found a solution in the tight press of Libra’s thighs, Lon’qu’s arms still circling his chest.

Libra hadn’t known that there would be a way to sleep, in the ashes of that day.

“I remember,” Lon’qu said, against the curve of Libra’s neck. “Is that what you want?”

Libra nodded--just gentle, just slight. He curled more tightly into himself, gripped Lon’qu’s fingers tighter. Recalled, for the hundred thousandth time, the sweet crush of that embrace.

A thought, then-- “It won’t hurt you, will it? Your recovery takes precedence.”

“No,” Lon’qu said. “It shouldn’t. But--”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure? That you want that. I could...” he paused again, the furrow in his brow apparent once more. “I could give you more. My... My mouth, if you wanted. Or-- or anything.”

Another lull, and Libra was just drawing breath to answer when Lon’qu spoke again.

“I don’t want-- this isn’t just for me. It’s been... A while. I don’t want to just take from you, Libra. I want this to feel good. For you.”

Libra squeezed his husband’s hand, shook his head.

“No, I... This is all I want,” he sighed, shifted around the slow ache in his cock. Lon’qu jerked at the friction, and Libra laughed, not meaning to surprise him. “I need you as close as I can have you. _Please.”_

Lon’qu spread his fingers over Libra’s beating heart. “Alright,” he murmured, voice low enough to rasp. “Alright. But you... Tell me, if you want something. To stop. Anything,” he amended, mouthing the joint of Libra’s shoulder.

“T-the same,” Libra managed. “Anything, you know that.”

Lon’qu shifted, then. Kissed the part of Libra’s hair as he groped for the oil they always kept beside their bed. Libra couldn’t help but whine at the cold, the deprivation of it, but found the wherewithal for business. Pulled away his nightshirt, winced at the slow drag of the fabric over sensitive skin. He left it unfolded on the nightstand, settled naked back onto the sheets.

The little vial in hand, Lon’qu pulled even further away. For consolation, though, he dragged his open palm down Libra’s side, stopping at his hip. With only the slightest bit of uncertainty, he let his fingertips skim the length of Libra’s cock.

“Oh,” Libra gasped, and then again, Longer and lower. His head tipped back, and Lon’qu took him firmly in hand, stroked him slow. Once, twice, again, until he remembered what he’d come down there for. He let go with a mumbled apology, managed to take the cork from the vial without spilling any oil.

He slicked his fingers and then, thinking better, the whole palm of his hand.

“Spread your legs,” he said, and didn’t mean for it to sound as vulgar as it did. Libra didn’t complain, just bent up his knee to let Lon’qu in.

The sounds that Libra made when Lon’qu pet his inner thighs were gorgeous, breathy and deep. They made an atmosphere of their own, just around the bed. Lon’qu breathed in heavy; wanting more, he pumped Libra’s cock again and was rewarded.

“Please.” Libra was losing his breath already, and Lon’qu scrambled to give him what he’d asked for. For good measure he spread the oil on himself, biting his lip to keep a little moan inside.

He wiped his hand on the sheet as an afterthought, closed the distance until there was nothing left to separate them. Spine to sternum, like they belonged. Libra grasped his hand again, pressed it to his chest.

Lon’qu canted his hips, nearly slammed himself home when he got Libra’s thighs around him.

“You feel good,” he whispered, and kissed the shell of Libra’s ear. Breathed, he had to remember to breathe. The first time they’d been together, Libra had had to remind him.

“Ah,” Libra manages, “ah, you, you as well.” Lon’qu could see the flush settling over his cheeks, down his neck, spreading even and pink to his freckled shoulder. He sucked a mark into the place where it faded, where it would stay under Libra’s clothes.

They lay like that, suspended, until Libra squirmed. Pressed his thighs tight, rocked his hips. He’d gotten so soft, weeks of galas and banquets filling out his hips just enough to make him plush, and the feeling was _devastating._

And Lon’qu told him so, said something that could just be a groan, a slump of syllables, but Libra knew was “you’re beautiful.”

He moaned in answer, from deep in his throat, and clasped Lon’qu’s hand even tighter in his, pressed it into his chest until it ached, ached like his cock leaking on the sheets.

And Lon’qu kissed him again, mouthed the shell of his ear and moved, moved in what was supposed to be a slow and gentle rhythm but had one foot over an edge.

“Lon’qu,” Libra babbled, wet lips brushing over knuckles, “my dearest, you’re so good to me, like that, like that...”

And Lon’qu knew that ‘like that’ meant he’d gotten it, that he shouldn’t change a thing, but it was herculean to stay in that pattern, to measure his speed, his angle, to brush Libra’s perineum just so every time. He ground out a moan in Libra’s ear-- he wanted to break, to fuck him like a man _starving._

But that wasn’t what Libra needed. Libra needed this, this slow firmness that was pushing him out of his mind, making his hips jump and his mouth hang slack. And when he angled something good, when Libra canted backward and cried, he thought not for the first time that he’d do anything. He’d kill or die, but the war had ended, he wouldn’t have to. All he had to do was hold, fuck Libra just like that.

Libra rewarded him with a gasp, with his hips crushed back against Lon’qu’s, his thighs so tight they shook. “I love you,” he confessed, words spilling from his mouth like water.

“Ah, I-- love you too, gods, you need this.”

“Y-yes!” he said, eyes squinting shut, color spreading down his chest. “Hold me _tighter,_ please...”

So they came closer, Lon’qu’s head coming to rest in the curve of Libra’s shoulder. Libra shuddered at the brush of hair against his jaw, the twining of their ankles.

Then Lon’qu’s hips stuttered, and Libra had to wonder if it was over--but no, Lon’qu just exhaled long and low, nuzzled into Libra’s neck.

“D’you-- want me to touch you?” he asked, in his slow and graveled voice.

Libra glanced down at their twined hands, realized only then that his fingers were sore, his knuckles white.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” he said, “Just want to... Uh, take care of you.”

The words traveled down Libra’s spine like honey, and he’d barely been thinking of that, of any part of himself that wasn’t sealed to Lon’qu’s skin. But the way he spoke to him, the slide of his cock against sensitive skin--it made him need to come so bad it hurt.

So he nodded, breathed _‘yes’_ into the back of Lon’qu’s hand, let it go. Lon’qu dragged it down his chest, strummed fingers over the ridges of his ribs. Libra’s hips jerked-- it was so slow, rough skin brushing just right over his side, and he keened when Lon’qu took a handful of his hip.

“Relax,” Lon’qu told him, and Libra took note of his tangled muscles, breathed, let them go.

It all came back again when Lon’qu took his cock in hand, and Libra arched into it, suddenly without any idea how he’d ever survived without this, without the perfect, even pressure. 

Lon’qu picked up his rhythm once again, matching with his hand, and it was gorgeous. Libra looked down as if he couldn’t believe it. His heart rushed in his chest-- Lon’qu brushed a calloused thumb over the head, and Libra wailed full-throated, reached blindly for his husband’s hand, clutched it even as he stroked him.

“You're trembling,” Lon’qu mumbled, shifting to kiss Libra’s neck, lave over the lovebite he’d already left. He twisted their hands and Libra sobbed again, a tear gathering at the corner of his eye. “Are you going to--?”

“I love you,” Libra gasped, by way of breathless answer. “I love you so much-- feels so good-- oh please, more.”

So Lon’qu gave him more, gritting his teeth with the new pace. Tried to avoid crying out in Libra’s ear, coming, losing focus. He buried his face in the crook of Libra’s neck, nuzzled over his pulse point, kissed it with the slightest edge of teeth.

Libra writhed against him, spine a ramrod of tension. The sounds he made were unreal-- panting and whining, whispering words that may not have been words at all but were probably ‘I want you, I need you, touch me, please,’ all tumbling over each other, all in a knot.

“That’s it,” Lon’qu murmured, of the stutter in Libra’s hips. “Let it happen, let go.”

It only took a moment. “Lon’qu,” he gasped, spilling in a rush over their joined hands. He couldn’t stop shaking, gulping air, his cock still twitching long after he’d spent.

Lon’qu pressed his hips into the clench of Libra’s thighs, couldn’t stop himself moaning deep into his ear. He was hot all the way to his fingertips, the shells of his ears.

“Alright?”

“Perfect,” Libra whispered. His limbs loosened, his spine melted along the curve of Lon’qu’s chest. Laid against him the way that he’d lay against a rock in the wilderness, to weather the wind. He didn’t drop his hand, didn’t mind the mess. “Keep going.”

He was obliged, Lon’qu pressing a kiss to his jaw and fumbling back into his rhythm, a little slower. Gentler, content to feel the press of Libra’s soft slack thighs.

“Is it too much?” he asked, low. Moved their hands from Libra’s cock, not wanting to wring him out too tightly. He wouldn’t mind if it was, he could just do for himself. Or not at all, if that’s what Libra wanted.

“No,” Libra said, belatedly, having only caught his breath. “Please, I want to be... Good, for you.”

To make his point he rocked his hips back, pressed his thighs together with what little energy he had. He breathed a laugh when it made Lon’qu hiss.

“You’re so good to me,” he said again, voice fucked out and full of wonder. “So sweet, it felt so good. You take such good care of me, I only hope that I can make you feel the way I did. The way I do.”

“Ah-- you do,” Lon’qu gritted out. Though he treasured every one of Libra’s words, he could barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. Libra was so soft, so sweet, so yielding.

Libra sighed with languid delight, leaned his head into the pillow. “I love you _so.”_

And Lon’qu knew, with the shaking of his hips, knew he couldn’t stop himself. Wrenched his eyes shut, tore his hand away from Libra’s to brace on the soft swell of his hip.

“I’m yours,” he gritted out, nose buried in Libra’s hair, and came quaking between his thighs.

He took a breath, then two. Steadied himself, still quivered as if he were freezing. Libra murmured soft assurance, turned to hold him tight, bracket Lon’qu’s legs with one of his. He kissed the top of his head, and Lon’qu could have cried.

“I’m yours,” he repeated, and nearly does. “Yours, it had to be you. You’re...” tears sting behind his eyes. “you’re precious to me.”

Libra nodded so slowly, brushed his thumb over Lon’qu’s lips, the line of his jaw. Kissed him soft and deep, petting his shoulder.

When he pulled away, Lon’qu could see tears shining on his cheeks.

Libra said “to me as well,” clung to him in their nest of twisted sheets, and for once the world outside their bed did not intrude.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Staves' song of the same name, which is excellent. Go check it out.
> 
> All feedback is appreciated, and come hang out with me on [dreamwidth](https://casualbird.dreamwidth.org) if you feel so inclined!
> 
> Write yourself sexy birthday presents. Be free.


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